“No thanks,” I said, a little disappointed she wasn’t real.. “Maybe some other time.” This Stacy was just a personal ad, nothing more.
“No hard feelings,” she replied, and let go of my arm to resume her initial position. She winked at me as she shimmied away. Ha, ha, no hard feelings. Right.
I took one last look around. Even after digging this deep there seemed to be more questions than answers. I had an off feeling about this case that just wouldn’t go away. But it was late, I was tired, and needed to sleep. There wasn’t a reason to rush, after all. The final report could wait.
As I passed by Jessica’s door, I peeked in to see her fast asleep. Her arms clutched a large pink unicorn that I always kept for her in that room. I wondered if Stacy Ackerman had liked pink unicorns. I admired my daughter for few moments before closing the door quietly behind me.
¤
I’d planned to take Jess to a baseball game Saturday afternoon. The local minor league club always had good tickets available and I really needed to forget about work.
I was showered, dressed, and on my second cup of coffee by the time Jessica shuffled sleepily into the kitchen in her oversize furry slippers.
“Morning,” she mumbled.
“Good morning, honey,” I replied. “Can I make you some toast?”
She raised a questioning eyebrow of teenage mistrust. My smile felt too tight.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Images of the rescue crew transporting Stacy Ackerman’s body away from the river’s edge still churned through my mind, refusing to let me go. I knew, logically, there was nothing I could have done. Her death had nothing to do with my investigation and everything to do with the lifestyle she had chosen to lead.
“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” The lie tasted sour, so I took another sip of coffee. “Just thinking about a case.”
“So you have to work again today,” she muttered as she brushed past me to get the orange juice out of the refrigerator.
“No, I don’t have to work today.”
But, I couldn’t get her out of my head. Stacy Ackerman shouldn’t be dead, suspiciously or otherwise. She was somebody’s little girl, and she mattered. At the very least I should provide the authorities with what I knew. If only for my own peace of mind.
“Maybe just a couple of e-mails,” I corrected. Her deepening frown broke my heart. “But then I’m all yours.”
She brightened at that, and I breathed easier for the first time since she’d stalked off last night. I’d become important to her again, even if I didn’t know why, and I dared not drop the ball. She sat down at the table with her juice and toast and phone, and I had to tear myself away from staring at her, calm and content for once. This morning I would write a quick summary report for Diane and attach a copy of the data I’d pulled from her space. Then, I could relax and spend time with my daughter.
I plugged myself in and compiled my notes, including the copied files. For completeness’ sake I wanted to get a more recent copy, so I rode the subway back to her homepage.
The subway doors refused to open. The site was gone. I initiated a search bubble, checking for anything, any trace of Stacy Ackerman, but there weren’t any search results. It was as though she had never existed.
I closed the bubble and slumped further down in my seat on the stationary subway, wondering why the cops would need to block all public access to her site, when a lone figure strode along the darkened platform to the closed doors. His face was a roughly drawn caricature, like a child’s stick figure. The menacing V of his monobrow made obvious his intent. This was no randomly generated passenger from my program. When the caricature avatar tried to force the doors open, I immediately knew I was under attack. Someone was trying to trace me.
I closed up every port I had, or tried to. The response was sluggish. The avatar had managed to get his fingers squeezed around the edges of the subway door and was starting to pull them apart. Panicked, I initiated an emergency shutdown and yanked my VR mask off. Not an elegant way of solving the problem, but it worked. Coughing out the gel that hadn’t yet evaporated, I rebooted my phone in isolation mode to assess any collateral damage. No intrusion detected, just some file corruption that I could easily deal with. Now that the excitement was over, I leaned back into the couch, chilled by the cooling sweat that had pooled in my back. Luckily, I had installed the best security money could buy and then some. There was no shortage of people I’ve pissed off over the years who might like to locate me and screw with my files.
“Are you okay?” asked Jessica, standing in the doorway to the kitchen and looking concerned.
“Fine,” I lied. “Just a system crash. I’ll have to reboot my router.”
This runner case had taken on some wild proportions, and I couldn’t wait to get rid of it. I might even request some time off. Diane could have her report when Jess and I returned home.
The apartment felt stuffy, claustrophobic. I’d been spending too much time inside people’s heads lately; messed-up people, like Stacy Ackerman. I needed some air, but the idea of going out in the open made me feel vulnerable. I slipped the licensed .38 calibre’s holster on under my jean jacket while Jess was in the bathroom. Today was one of those days where I felt I couldn’t be too careful.
“Time to go to that ball game, Jess.”
¤
Jessica enjoyed the game, even if our guys lost. I had trouble relaxing, jumpy from my close encounter with the creepy avatar and too much caffeine. I felt eyes on me continually, but whenever I turned around, there was no one there.
I vowed to never bring work home again. Not before the company ponied up for a more secure home set up, one that would cover all devices using my connection. I needed to keep my personal space safe not only for me, but for my daughter. I would put in that request as soon as we were home, along with my report and the request for time off.
When I went to open the door of my apartment, I noticed it was already unlocked. My heart began to race. Keeping Jess behind me, I pushed the door open with my foot.
Chaos greeted us. Every cupboard and drawer had been overturned; their contents spilled.
I passed my phone to Jess to call the police from the hallway before pulling my gun out. I had only ever fired it once, into the air to scare off a mugger. I prayed my shaking hands didn’t betray my lack of experience to whoever was on the other side of the door. I searched through the apartment one room at a time, but the perp was gone. I noted, however, that whoever had done this had taken my home computer and portable flash drives. Nothing else was missing, not even my router, still plugged in, nor my bottles of booze, or home cinema kit.
I could hear Jessica crying in the hallway, so I went back to her and drew her into a big bear hug. What if we’d been here when these thugs had come searching? I didn’t dare finish the thought.
“I want to call Mom.” Jessica’s voice command activated the phone even through her sniffling. I wished she hadn’t. The last thing I needed right now was an argument with my ex over my lack of competent parenting skills.
Instead of placing the call, her phone’s screen displayed continuous scrolling images and text. I snatched the phone out of her hand and tried to shut it off. It wouldn’t power down; it had been compromised. Wrenching open the battery compartment, I disconnected the kinetic cell. The phone’s screen slowly blackened in one last capacitor drain.
Jess’s phone had been clean when we left, so it must have picked up something the intruders had left behind on my own network. I stalked past her to the spare bedroom closet where I kept my router and modem and pulled the cables out of the wall.
“Dad, what’s going on? What happened to my phone?”
I don’t believe in coincidences. No common burglar would have left behind so many easily fence-able items. Someone had been keeping a lookout for anyone interested in Stacy Ackerman, and they were very serious about it. Whoever was behind that avatar hadn’t been able to pierce my network se
curity to steal my files, so they had resorted to an old-fashioned home invasion.
Jess, annoyed and upset I was ignoring her while I unplugged every smart device in the apartment, kept repeating her question more and more loudly until I answered her.
“Your phone got a virus the burglars left behind. I have to shut down our connection while the system performs a scan.”
“Does that mean they have all my data?”
“No. I don’t think so anyway. I shut your phone off pretty quickly.” I’ll have to verify it and clean it out for you. Change all your passwords first chance you get, okay?”
The cops arrived a couple of hours later to note the missing items and file a report. Break-ins were as common as cockroaches in Los Angeles, and they didn’t act very concerned, especially since we’d been out when it happened and no weapons had been involved. I didn’t tell them about Stacy Ackerman. It’s not as though I had any proof there was a connection. Even if I gave everything I had over to the cops, what could they do? Could they prevent whoever it was from trying again?
And they would try again, because they didn’t find what they were looking for. I knew how to make a trail vanish, and no file on Stacy had been left on any of my equipment. The only copy was on my phone in my report to Diane, ready to send.
We cleaned up the mess as best we could, then I took her to the hardware store with me and purchased the strongest deadbolt I could find, to replace the broken one. I didn’t trust my landlord to get anything but the cheapest. I’d just bill her later for my trouble.
Despite the precautions, Jess had difficulty going to sleep that night, especially without her phone to comfort and distract her. We played cards until she began to nod off, then I tucked her into bed. After that, I turned in myself.
I had a restless night. Every creak and bump had me sitting up breathless, listening for an intruder.
Early Sunday morning I gave Diane a call. I couldn’t live like this. I needed to know what to do.
“Diane, listen. I need your help on that case.”
Diane’s groggy voice croaked at me over the phone. “What’s so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow? That runner case? No one expects you to solve it in a day.”
“The runner, Stacy Ackerman, is dead. I saw it on the news the other night.”
She paused. “I’m sorry, Jeff. But you know we deal with people with serious problems, so it’s to be expected that some of them overdose or take another way out.”
“I don’t think this is a suicide or a drug overdose. I think this girl was murdered.”
“And what makes you think that?” She was fully awake now.
“Someone or some people broke into my apartment while I was out at a ballgame with my daughter. They only took my computer equipment. And the girl’s personal space doesn’t show any drug addiction or suicidal tendencies.”
“I’m sorry about your place, Jeff.” Diane sighed. “But it might all be a coincidence. Just file the report and go have a drink. I’ll even let you expense it.”
“Regardless. This is the kind of thing the police will want to know about.”
“It’s none of your business. Stay out of it, Jeff. That’s an order. The case is closed. File a summary report and let the creditors take it up with her estate.” Now I was sure I wouldn’t get any help from her. I would have preferred to have her back me up, but I could deal with it alone, if I had to.
“Fine, Diane. You’re right. Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After I hung up, the apartment was too quiet. I heard the separate hum of every appliance in the kitchen around me. Restless, I got up and dumped the now-cold coffee down the sink. I couldn’t really blame Diane, she’d been in this business far longer than I had and had seen worse. One of the downsides to this job was the mistrust; it hardened you. Personal relationships become difficult after you spend day after day being spit on and cursed at. You forget how to relate. I didn’t know whether any sane woman would ever have me again. That’s why my relationship with Jessica was so important to me. She wasn’t just my daughter, she was the only person who still treated me like a human being. And if I was still a human being, so was Stacy. I had to do something.
I could find out more. Maybe enough to actually give the police a lead. Whoever was trying to cover up their involvement with Stacy wouldn’t risk attracting attention by deleting the files almost certainly backed up in multiple copies elsewhere in the provider’s network. They just wanted to know whether anyone was bothering to look. I knew how to go back and look, I would simply have to do it carefully.
Quietly, so as not to wake Jess, I plugged my router back in, but not before I scanned it thoroughly for malware. I also assured myself that every other device in my house was off the network except for the new clean computer and router I’d purchased yesterday. I verified that my apartment door and all the windows were thoroughly locked. Even took the extra precaution to shove a chair in front of the dead-bolted door. The last thing I did before I sat on the couch was to leave my gun within reach next to me, just in case. I pulled on my immersion gear and launched the browser.
The subway ride to Stacey’s site was normal, though none of the pseudo passengers tried to engage with me since they couldn’t recognize me in the virgin, anonymous avatar skin I was wearing. I hoped it would fool any hostile avatars I might encounter into thinking I was an unintelligent piece of background, though most importantly, this avatar couldn’t be traced back to me.
The subway slid into the blackened station, but the doors refused to open.
A wave of my avatar’s hand opened the illegal toolkit I’d brought with me. I selected an option and tried to force the doors again. Nothing happened. I selected a second tool, touching it to the smeary glass and the doors vanished. I stepped onto the dark and deserted platform.
I scanned carefully for any tripwires. A tracery of red lines appeared before me, and I tiptoed carefully across to the wall at the back of the platform. The subway behind me vanished when I reached the six-foot-high message box telling everyone that the site had been closed. Careful not to touch anything with my hands, I used an anonymous glove to click the message box. My scanner caught whiff of the bits scurrying away to inform someone of my presence, likely just a log file deep somewhere in the hosting site’s databases keeping track of hits. Another tool from my tool kit and I traced a door beneath the message. No alerts this time. I activated the door, slid it aside, and walked in.
This break in was easier than I expected, and it had me worried. The only security I’d seen, and had easily fooled, belonged to the hosting site. Where was that other avatar? I quickly made my way down a winding dark staircase to the deepest level. I reached the unguarded door with Stacy’s profile photo, and it opened easily for me. When I stepped through into Stacey’s space, the world brightened again. Everywhere I looked, Stacy copies smiled, and laughed with not a care in the world. This was not a young woman who had nothing to live for and had ended it all, no addict consumed by her vice. There was no doubt in my mind that she had not committed suicide. Someone had wanted her dead. I turned my back and made my way over to the link to her private storage.
“Can I help you?”
I screamed and clutched at my hearts, both real and virtual. A Stacy avatar was looking over my shoulder, head cocked to one side and large blue eyes blank and innocent. Since she was part of the space, my scanning software hadn’t bothered to alert me.
“I’m just looking,” I told her.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
“This is my private space.”
“I have the password,” I assured her, not that she needed it.
“This is my private space.”
“Trust me. I’m here to help.” I don’t know why I said that. It sounded like some action movie hero one-liner. I started to copy the contents of her files to a third-party storage space. I would copy it onto my own computer only after I’d scanned it
for malware, then forcibly decrypt it. Thirty seconds, then I could get out of here.
“Why?”
Her question was so innocently asked, I almost answered it.
Except dumb avatars aren’t randomly curious.
I slipped a de-masking wand from my kit, but she blocked my arm before I could touch it to her and it was knocked away out of reach. As I scrambled for it, the faux Stacy changed into the child’s sketch thug avatar. The walls dissolved away into infinite grey and I realized, too late, that I’d stupidly been lured into a honeypot. This wasn’t Stacy’s real site at all.
The avatar advanced upon me, bearing a pair of restraints in one hand. Those restraints would not only prevent me from executing the smallest command, they would paralyze my muscles through my immersion input so that I couldn’t even physically break the connection. The purpose was clear: trap me here until they traced me, or I cracked from the torture.
I scanned desperately for an exit, but none appeared. I was barely able to keep a half-step ahead of the avatar as we darted around the space in virtual leaps; it leaving traps, while I dropped blocks in its way in the deadliest video game of my life. I was running out of tricks, and it was getting better at avoiding them.
I would have to dig my way out.
I stopped running and dropped layer upon layer of my strongest blocks around me in quick succession, to buy the milliseconds I needed to forcibly quit this space. The virtual bricks shook and crumbled as my digging tool searched for a safe path out. It finally popped a door in front of me, and I opened it to step through, with no idea where I was headed. Behind me was a hole in the brick wall big enough for the avatar to stick an arm through. It slashed at me with the restraints, but missed. I tumbled through the opening.
Stupefying Stories: August 2014 Page 2